


boys that are not robin

by partlysunny



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, sort of, well fluffier than what im used to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 00:58:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2249913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partlysunny/pseuds/partlysunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>she's trying with the ordinary and the boys, but really, this is what she likes-- In which there are boys, and then there is Robin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	boys that are not robin

boys that are not robin

 

She thinks his name is Henry.

“Yeah, I heard it’s a great movie, there’s been a huge line at the cinema for like, three days. Wanna check it out?”

Or Hugh, maybe.

“I forget what it’s called. Some comedy. A romantic comedy.”

No, it was definitely Hunter. Yeah, his name is Hunter.

“Zee?”

She finally looks at him. He has red hair. The smile on his face is hopeful and maybe a little stupid but she won’t say anything because people are always telling her how hard she is to talk to and she might be ready to prove them wrong.

“Yeah, sure,” she says. “Pick me up at seven.”

He picks her up at seven-thirty, because she’s in Paris having a latte when she remembers she has a date and has to Zeta back home. Robin’s eyebrows shoot up over his sunglasses when she checks her watch and lets out a shriek of surprise.

“I have a date,” she explains.

He drinks the rest of his latte before answering. It takes about a minute. She stands there and watches him drain every last drop, even the dregs at the bottom where the big crystals of sugar sink because they’re too hard to melt. She checks her watch again. He places his cup onto its saucer.

“Where are you going on this date?” he asks in the voice he uses to give the team briefings before missions.

“I don’t know,” she mutters. She grabs her sweater off the back of her chair and glances down at herself. A white skirt, a dark shirt, good enough for the movies, although she might have to summon a pair of earrings from her room to dress up a little bit. “The movies, but I don’t know which movie.”

“You’re letting him choose the movie,” he says in a thoughtful tone. He crosses his fingers on the tabletop.

“I have to go,” she says, and she runs off.

Robin texts her in the middle of the movie three times. The first time is to ask her what movie she’s watching. The second time is to commend the boy she’s with (he writes the name Harold but it’s Hunter, she’s pretty sure) for his choice of a fine date movie. The third time is to ask if she wants to swing by the Cave after her date for a real movie. Each time her phone buzzes in the pocket of her sweater, she pulls it out with a smile on her face, aware that the light of the screen is disturbing the viewers in the seats above hers, and that Hunter (Harry?) is trying hard not to glance at her screen and see who is disturbing their date.

“That was fun,” she says when he’s walked her home and is standing on her doorstep looking sheepish.

She waits until he’s gone all the way around the block before she makes her way to the Zeta Tube two streets down and disappears in a flash of bright yellow light.

.

Joshua?

“It’s a pretty cool place, it’s got this sort of ambience to it.”

No, not Joshua. It’s James. She knows it is. For sure.

“And their crab cakes are to die for. For a seafood joint, it’s pretty classy, let me tell you.”

Definitely James. But did he go by Jim, or Jamie, or Jimmy?

“So, you wanna check it out?”

She blinks at him. He has blonde hair and he leans against the locker next to hers with his hands in his pockets. The smile on his face is small and cool but his eyes show that he’s a little nervous, and with two backwards words she can have him spill his guts but she won’t.

“Sure,” she says. “Pick me up at five.”

He picks her up at six because she’s in Gotham skipping stones at the lake in the park when she catches a glimpse of Robin’s watch and jumps in surprise, loses her footing, and almost falls into the water if it isn't for Robin’s reflexes, lightning quick, and he pulls her up with a steady hand grasping hers tightly.

“I have a date,” she explains.

He nods slowly, his mouth a line of consideration, chewing, chewing, chewing on the inside of his cheek in that bad habit of his that she offered to neutralize and he laughed no. “The movies?”

“A seafood restaurant.” She glances down at herself, sees jeans and a purple blouse, thinks she might have time to pin her hair up and slip into a different pair of pants before she’s moved from fashionably late to rude late. She starts away, a goodbye on her lips, when she feels a tug on her hand and realizes Robin’s still holding it.

“I didn’t know you like seafood,” he muses. His hold on her hand is loose, she can spring right out of it and run to the Zeta Tube, but she doesn’t.

“I don’t not like it,” she replies.

He nods. His face is straight. For the first time, she feels a need to pull his glasses off, to look upon his real face, and the need isn't based on curiosity, and the need isn't fleeting.

“What’s his name, this date of yours?” he asks.

“James,” she says with surety.

Another nod. The light of the setting sun is caught in his shades and his lenses look for a moment like they are on fire. “And does this James have a nickname?”

She doesn’t know her hand is reaching up to take his glasses off until he grabs her wrist just before it touched his face.

“Have fun,” he says, and she feels the words more than she hears them before she is released and he has darted away into a crowd of passersby.

Robin sends her three pictures during dinner. The first one is of a cartoon crab dancing, and next to the crab is a poorly sketched girl that could possibly have meant to be her, if she squints. The second is a cartoon octopus, and wrapped in one of its tentacles is another hastily sketched girl with dark hair that she accepts as her. The third is a boy with blonde hair being eaten by a shark. James is telling a story about an incident that occurred to him during soccer practice that she is only half listening to as she quickly thumbs a text to Robin: _One of these things is not like the others_.

His reply is instantaneous, as though he was waiting with his phone at the ready but he couldn’t have been because he’s Robin. _Are you saying you wanted to be eaten by the shark?_

_How did you know he has blonde hair?_

She has to wait for the next reply, almost fifteen minutes of listening to James talk about whatever it is he is talking about, and then her phone buzzes on her lap and she checks it as discreetly as she can.

_I know a place in Tokyo with great seafood._

An hour later, she lets James kiss her on the cheek, tells him what a great time she had, and carefully slips out of the cab he has hailed for her by the Zeta Tube, where the alley is illuminated in yellow for a second and when it goes black again, she is gone.

.

His name is Matthew.

“A spot on the pier, there’s this view of the ocean that’d take your breath away. I go there at least once a week.”

Matthew. She is positive.

“It’s usually pretty empty on Sunday mornings.”

Or Martin? No, she shakes it out of her head before doubt can take root. No, it’s Matthew.

“So, do you want me to take you there?”

She looks at him. He has brown hair and he sits cross legged on the grass on the school lawn, picking at a blade of grass, a crease between his eyebrows as he waits for her response. His eyelashes are long and tangled up in each other, and sunlight glances off them and brightens the greens of his eyes. She likes the dimple in his chin and the tan lines on his collarbones. She really hopes his name is Matthew when she says, “You can pick me up at noon, Matthew.”

He smiles. She smiles too.

He picks her up at half past, because she’s standing on the walkway over the Thames when she remembers where she’s supposed to be and gasps.

“I have a date,” she explains.

Robin looks up from his hot chocolate and the corner of his mouth tilts downward. She thinks he may be sad to see that she has to go but no, he isn't, he’s Robin. All cool practicality and maturity that only gives way to carefully planned mischief. It’s why she likes being around him. People are mundane and ordinary and she’s trying with the friends and the boys but really, it’s this that she likes: buzzing around the world in a flash of yellow, drinking chocolate over the Thames and eating sushi in Japan and being able to talk about magic and whispering a spell to keep them dry when it rains and making it home before curfew because he’s the only one that can know that when Zatara says grounded, he literally means grounded.

“A restaurant?” he asks.

She shakes her head and looks down to see capris and a tank top. Good enough. “The beach.”

“The beach,” he repeats. He stares out at the water and their unimpeded view of the famous bridge. “That’s clichéd. I’ll bet he’ll buy you boardwalk fries and tell you about his crazy sister, and you’ll laugh but get bored, and then you’ll say you want cotton candy because there has to be something good that comes out of it all, and then you’ll still be bored so you’ll say you have to go, and then you’ll call me and we’ll have a real adventure. I know this place in Vancouver where the skiing is the stuff dreams are made of.”

She’s so surprised that it takes her a moment to formulate a thought. “Are you saying I shouldn’t go on this date?” she asks finally.

He shrugs and spills his chocolate into the river. The lenses of his glasses catch the grey of the stormy sky and reflects it back out. A thought occurs to her and she says, “How did you know that thing about Matthew and his crazy sister?”

When he doesn’t reply, she says, “You spied on him?” and she is shocked.

“I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t a crook or something,” he says hastily. “I’m a detective. It’s what I do, Zee.”

“We’re fourteen,” she deadpans.

“We’re old enough to be hot on the tracks of our mentors and becoming a part of the League,” he replies smoothly. “That means he’s old enough to be a crook, if he wants to be. I just did a background check, stay traut.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ll stay traut,” she says, something inside her flaring. “Because having one dad watch over everything I do isn't enough. Now I have two.”

“Zatanna,” he says. His hands are up, palms out in surrender.

“I’m going to be late,” she says, and she leaves, looking back once to see if he’s still there but he’s disappeared. Of course.

Robin texts her only once, and it’s at the very end of the date, when she is sufficiently bored from Matthew’s talking about his family and one particular Christmas and she’s occupied her thoughts by thinking of names that Matthew should have been called by. She has settled on Marvin when her phone buzzes in her pocket.

_How about that ski trip?_ he has written.

She doesn’t reply for fifteen minutes, to make him sweat, and when she’s found a way to shake off Marvin and finds herself sitting alone on the boardwalk, she writes, _I don’t much like the cold._

He texts her back immediately. _Then let’s go to Hawaii_.

She doesn’t want to respond. She doesn’t know why she’s still a little mad. She doesn’t know why Robin keeps taking her around the world on trips that always seem to carry more weight than she thinks they do. She doesn’t know what exactly HenryHaroldHunter’s eyes look like, or whether JimJamieJimmy’s laugh was loud or quiet, or why MatthewMarvin kept talking about his family like she gave a damn. She doesn’t know why she’s going on these dates with these boys that are not Robin.

Across the boardwalk, she spots a boy sitting against the rail clear across from her with big blue eyes and blackblack hair that is pulling a face at her. Her heart beats fast. There is something familiar about the way his tongue darts out to touch his lips before he opens wide and lets it loll out and he crosses his eyes and wrinkles his nose. She doesn’t know how hard she’s laughing until a group of girls pass by and give her weird looks.

The boy puts a hand up and waves. She waves back and sticks out her tongue. He smiles at her, and she smiles back and after a moment she realizes that he’s Robin.

Yes, it’s him, she knows it’s him, she’s surprised it took this long for her to notice that if she put her hand up and covered his eyes it would be the same face she looks at every day. He stands up and makes his way over to her, and he’s the same kind of ordinary that she sees in all the boys without his glasses on to add that touch of mystery and aster but somehow, seeing his eyes, seeing the identity he has hidden so well from everyone else, she thinks this makes him more extraordinary than his alter-ego.

He sits beside her and they listen to the waves. She can’t stop sneaking looks at his face. The half-smile on his face tells her he knows.

“Robin,” she says.

“Dick,” he corrects.

“Dick,” she says.

“You looked bored,” he tells her. “I told you he’d bore you.”

“And that was with very minimal disruptions on your part,” she observes.

“I thought you’d appreciate a day of ruption.”

“That’s ugly.”

“Yeah, some words need their prefixes.”

She laughs. A salty sea breeze blows her hair onto his face and he blinks in surprise, brushing it out of his eyes. She watches his every move, the way he blinks, the way the sun hits the blue just so and sets them alight.

“I know you were just looking out for me,” she says after a stretch of silence.

“I shouldn’t have anyway,” he mutters.

“I’m not mad at you anymore.”

He smiles. His eyes get smaller, the edges crinkle. She doesn’t know she’s kissed the corner of his left eye until after her lips have touched the soft skin.

“It’s a nice day,” she says when she pulls away and his eyes are wide and he’s looking at her like he’s seeing her for the first time. “There’s this place in Los Angeles that sells the best burgers.”

His name is Dick.

“I don’t think anyone can say they have eaten a burger until they’ve been to that place.”

Not Richard, or he would have said that. Dick. Definitely, absolutely Dick.

“Do you want to go with me?” she asks.

He looks at her. He has black hair that looks more than a little windswept and eyes that are crystalline and blue and there are bite marks she can’t see on the inside of his cheeks and his watch is really a computer and he’s a superhero, but nobody knows it but her. He’s not ordinary, not by a long shot, not what she’s been trying for, not the mundane, not the conventional. And she’s okay with that as long as he keeps those glasses off and she can see that he’s not Robin either.

This is one boy that isn't Robin that she can deal with.

He winks at her. “You can pick me up at three,” he says.

.

  


End file.
